


Hellidays

by Shampain



Series: Journeys, Unexpected [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5513165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's worse: Christmas Eve at Thranduil's, or Christmas Day at Thorin's? Will Dís like Tauriel or will she disapprove of the match with her son? When will Legolas stop being an idiot? Will Bard ever sleep again, or is he doomed to worry about his daughter running amok until she turns thirty? Who will win the bet over when Thranduil and Thorin get into a fight? Is any of this even important? No, not really!</p><p>A continuation of the universe and relationships from my story 'Modern Love'. It's stupid and really ridiculously lacking in plot. I just wanted to write Christmas Fic. LEAVE ME ALONE, GOSH. But anyway Happy Holidays. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Christmas Eve

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a two-parter, presumably. Not very long! The next chapter will be dedicated to Christmas Day.  
> I definitely have other ideas and plots for everyone, but I haven't the time to focus on them, so. Don't take this too seriously, I just missed these characters and wanted to check in on them ;)

“What have you done?”

Tauriel hopped down from the chair she had been balancing on (not in a normal person way, but in the nerve-wracking way where she had had both feet planted on each spindly chair arm, rocking back and forth as she adjusted the garland, and tempting fate). “I've made the living room pretty,” she replied.

Thranduil had been in the shower for exactly ten minutes (at least five of that had been dedicated to his hair). Accounting for another twenty minutes of getting dressed, drying his hair, and other 'primping' – as Bard called it – that meant he had been absent from the main floor for a half an hour, give or take five minutes.

In that time, Tauriel had covered the already decorated tree with icicle tinsel, strewn garland along every table edge, arranged poinsettias and various snow-themed decorations all over, and plastered the front window with snowflake decals. She had worked for him, so he knew she was efficient. He had just hoped it would never be used against him.

“This is hideous,” he said.

Tauriel raised one thin eyebrow. “Oh?” she asked. Digging underneath a pile of sparkly blue garland, she produced the pronged end of a plug, and an outlet attached to the wire.

“By all the gods, no,” he said.

She plugged it in, and white and blue lights lit up the mantelpiece, illuminating the stockings. He was just glad nothing was animated or playing tinny-sounding theme music. “It's Christmas, Thranduil,” she said. “Embrace it.”

“No.”

“Just,” she took in a deep breath. “Maybe you should... _let it go_.”

“No!”

“ _Let it go_!” she belted out, but the fates smiled, because Legolas popped his head around the corner leading to the kitchen, just in time. “No _Frozen_!” he barked, before disappearing.

Tauriel deflated, then smiled. “You don't hate it, though, do you?” she asked, looking around her. “I hope you're just play-acting the Grinch. You were the one who wanted to invite the Bowman's over. You can't get away with just a tree.”

“Yes, but you're the one who invited, well... _all the rest_ ,” he said, with a scowl he didn't really mean. “Besides, I do have the lights on outside, don't I?”

Tauriel just smiled. “It's going to be fun,” she said, opening her arms. Obediently, he hugged her, then tightened his arms around her so he could lift her feet from the floor and carry her to the kitchen, as if she were five and not about twenty years above that.

All three of them hated cooking for a crowd, so most of the food was what would be prepared in advance, already plated and served cold or to be heated at the right time. Legolas, though, was hovering over fresh batches of mulled wine and hot chocolate on the stove. The wine, Thranduil planned on partaking in as soon as possible.

Thranduil had been looking forward to a relaxing Christmas, without all of _this_ – raising Legolas by himself, and usually with Tauriel joining them for holidays with her parents gone, meant that he was comfortable with traditional cooking and 'mothering', but only to a degree. Thranduil's ability to play host maxed out at four people; any number higher than that and he hired catering. Which, naturally, was what he had done for most of the food, though naturally he didn't go so far as to hire serving staff. He knew what was and was not appropriate for a family gathering, even when it involved families he'd never heard of or bothered himself with less than six months ago.

Legolas, magnificent son that he was, ladled a serving of wine each for Thranduil and Tauriel. “I hope we get company soon, or the alcohol is going to be burned off if we cook this much longer,” he mused. The sent of wine, orange, cinnamon and chocolate was wafting through the kitchen.

“We'll have to drink it all and whip up a fresh batch, then,” Tauriel decided staunchly, taking a sip.

“Or I'll just inhale all of the vapours as they burn off and it won't go to waste,” Legolas suggested.

“I'm not driving you to the hospital on Christmas Eve if you burn your brain out,” Thranduil warned. “So don't you dare. I'll have to sit in emergency next to all the gang bangers and children with appliances stuck up their noses.”

“Fair enough,” Legolas said.

 

Blissfully, Bard arrived within the hour. It didn't really get snowy in their city, just windy and a bit chilly in the winter months, enough to wear scarves and gloves and to turn on the heating. Bard was the kind of man who seemed to get more and more attractive with each layer he put on, so Thranduil was pleased at the turn in the weather. (Not that Bard was unattractive ever, especially when he took the clothing off).

The rest – as in, Bilbo, his unfortunate common law partner, and the latter's nephew – showed up very soon after. Tauriel led them into the kitchen, where Thranduil had been busy doctoring Bard's coffee with a healthy dose of Baileys.

Thorin was wearing the sort of expensive plaid shirt that only people who made six figures a year bothered to purchase, and had a twenty-four case of his own beer under his elbow, holding it as easily as if it were a feather pillow; it had a bow stuck to it, marking it quite clearly as a host gift, likely the work of Bilbo. “Happy tidings, then,” he said, his tone as mild as ever, which had been an unspoken agreement between him and Thranduil. It stopped the bickering, at least for the first hour (this they had learned when Tauriel had bravely invited everyone for dinner at her new apartment, and Thranduil and Thorin had started snarling at each other over the salads).

Bilbo, on the other hand, swooped in excitedly. “It was so kind to invite us, Thranduil,” he exclaimed, giving him a bold hug.

“It's a pleasure,” Thranduil answered, honestly (well, honest at least for the case of Bilbo).

“Chocolate or wine, Thorin, Bilbo?” Tauriel asked, politely, poised over the stove. She had poured two mugs already, presumably for herself and an absent Kíli. “Legolas made them both. Or we can make coffee, if you like.”

“Where is _my_ coffee?” Bard appeared in the doorway leading from the kitchen to the dining room. “What are you doing to it?”

“Nothing,” Thranduil said, automatically, capping the Baileys. “Cream and sugar, right?”

“You're a wicked man,” Bard said. Thranduil grinned.

“Bard, you're looking well,” Thorin said. “Well, no. You look exhausted. Kids driving you up the wall?”

“Twenty-four-seven,” Bard said, happily. He did, indeed, look very tired; attractive, still, but clearly nearing the end of his rope as far as the holidays were concerned. He'd naysayed the mulled wine with the reasoning that it would make him fall asleep. “They're downstairs playing outdated video games right now.”

“That's where I'm heading,” Tauriel said, cheerfully, holding the two mugs in one hand and a platter of food balanced on the other, scooting around Thorin. “We'll be downstairs. I'll try to contain the Tilda Storm down there as long as possible.”

“You're an angel.”

“She is,” Thranduil agreed, pressing the coffee into Bard's hands. “And I had nothing to do with it.”

“Clearly. Ow,” Thorin added, when Bilbo dug an elbow into his side.

 

-

 

Tauriel managed to make it down the stairs without spilling a single drop or letting a piece of food slip to the floor. The basement was where she had lived when she was going through university, sharing it with Legolas; it was practically a separate suite, with a small bar area, several couches, two bedrooms, a storage closet and a bathroom. It was nice to be back down there, even if only for a couple of nights.

They had set up everything for the 'Bardlings' (as Legolas called them), with Tauriel and Legolas taking a single couch each, giving up their bedrooms to Tilda, Bain and Sigrid. All of them, plus Kíli, were arranged all across the couches and watching Bain and Tilda (that is, Tilda sitting in Legolas' lap and helping him hit buttons) playing the second Sonic the Hedgehog on the Sega Genesis. As far as gaming went, Tauriel had never picked up a controller after the N64, and she had never bothered to update her knowledge from there.

Tauriel stood behind the couch, holding Kíli's far too high until, after a pout, he sat up straight and reached for it. “Thank you,” he said, letting his head fall back to look up at her. She smiled and ran her fingers through his hair.

“Stop mooning at each other,” Legolas said, without looking away from the screen.

“We're not.”

“ _Sure_.”

“Have we started taking bets yet on how long it'll take for Thorin and Thranduil to start shouting at each other?” Tauriel asked, clambering over the back of the couch and sliding down, squishing herself comfortably between Kíli and Sigrid.

“We were waiting for your update,” Kíli said. “How's the tension? Thick enough to cut with a knife?”

“They seem to be on their best behaviour for now,” Tauriel mused. “It looks like they might compromise by poking fun at Bard all night. He looks like the Ghost of Christmas Future right now. I hear his children are terrible, evil things who won't let him rest.”

“Dad says Sigrid's social life is giving him night terrors,” Bain mused, also not looking away from the screen. “But I told him it's not her fault boys like her.”

“He suggested I try to bring potato sacks back into fashion,” Sigrid grumbled. “And when I asked for a lock on my door for Christmas he said he'd get it for me if the lock was on the _outside_.”

Legolas snorted and Tilda giggled. “Beware, little Bardling, it'll be your turn soon one day,” he said, solemnly. He handed her the controller. “Here, you can be the little fox for a bit. I need another drink. What are the bets, everyone? Get 'em in now or forever hold your peace.”

 

-

 

“Why is there mistletoe _everywhere_?” Thorin asked, ignoring the way Bilbo flashed his best angelic smile and said _I love it actually_.

Thranduil had cast his gaze towards the ceiling, frowning in agreement. Thorin didn't know if it was the holiday spirit getting to him, but he felt less annoyed by the blonde these days. Maybe it was because, with the forced camaraderie because of Kíli and Tauriel, actual animosity had fizzled out. Sometimes Thorin found himself disagreeing with the pompous yuppie on principle alone, but Bilbo had taken to calling him out on it.

It was hard to make a fuss when a lot of the so-called habits Thranduil had that annoyed him happened to be the same habits Bilbo had that were terribly endearing.

“I think Tauriel might have thought it was holly,” he murmured, drily. “Or, that's what she'll claim if you ask her about it. I already had to put my foot down on the music.”

“You don't like Christmas music?”

“I don't like words in my Christmas music. Instrumental or complete silence, those are the options.”

“Then what the Hell are the carollers supposed to do? Hum at the doorstep?”

“You hate carollers, Thorin,” Bilbo reminded him. The way he spoke, it sounded like he was about to start laughing.

“I'd hate them more if they were humming,” Thorin said, flatly. Bard produced an inelegant noise that was obviously a chuckle, failing to masquerade as a sneeze.

Legolas poked his head in. Unlike his father, who looked like he was posing for a department store catalogue, Legolas was wearing a t-shirt so worn the collar was starting to disintegrate from the shoulders. The young man, at least, seemed far closer to Thorin's sort of people than Thranduil or Tauriel did.

“How are we doing in here?” he asked, neutrally. “Drinks are all topped up? Anyone woozy yet? Make sure to drink a lot before you eat, so it hits you faster.”

Thranduil picked up a sofa cushion and threw it with stunning accuracy towards his son, who narrowly avoided it.

Legolas' grin was bigger than ever. “There it is!” he exclaimed. “It's not Christmas until your dad throws shit at you!”

“Only soft things, like socks,” Thranduil said, settling back against the couch. “I'm not cruel.”

“Thorin used to throw things at the kids, too,” Bilbo said, pleasantly. “Usually food. That's what Dís told me. Dís – you'll meet her tomorrow, Thranduil. She and Fíli are flying in late. She's absolutely wonderful.”

“Doesn't take after Thorin at all?” Thranduil asked, pleasantly.

Thorin cracked a grin, and didn't bother to correct him. Truthfully, he didn't know what his sister would think of Thranduil, but that wasn't the issue. Mostly Kíli was concerned that she might dislike Tauriel, falling into moody spells or anxiously wandering around the house rearranging things.

It had been a couple of months and Thorin had never seen his nephew go so slow with a girl, or be as enamoured. If he was feeling ungenerous Thorin would think that Tauriel was doing the old 'hold out and make him chase you' ploy, but it was clearly something else entirely. The girl was highly emotional but oddly methodical, and while she was clearly adoring of his nephew they barely did more than peck each other on the cheek or hold hands when company was around. They acted like very close friends. When Thorin brought this up to Bilbo before bed one evening, his partner had simply smiled.

“Yes,” Bilbo had said. “I think it's wonderful.”

Legolas appeared balancing two trays of food, which he set on the coffee table, disappearing and reappearing with wine glasses and a bottle each of white and red. “So you don't have to get up,” he said, generously.

Bilbo leaned forward, helping himself to some cheese and grapes. “You're suspiciously helpful, young man,” he mused.

“Happy holidays!” Legolas exclaimed, retreating hastily.

Thranduil watched him go with slightly narrowed eyes. “He's very clever, deep down,” he said, flatly.

Bard laughed. “So mean,” he murmured.

“You're awfully quiet, Bard,” Bilbo said, settling back, his body warm against Thorin's chest. Thorin peered over his partner's curly hair, and helped himself to the food balanced on the napkin Bilbo was holding. “I hope the holidays haven't been too rough on you?”

“No more than usual, Bilbo,” Bard said, shrugging. He began to pour generous glasses of wine for all of them. Apparently, he'd been sufficiently caffeinated to make the dive. “I can't wait for January 1st. Everyone is rude as Hell and I'm working doubles. At least I have relatively tame children, so them being out of school isn't quite so nerve-wracking.”

“Yes, Sigrid has been so indispensable at the Shire,” Bilbo said, nodding. “Such a hard worker.”

“Do you think you could put her in the back more often?” Bard muttered, handing off the glasses of wine.

Bilbo waved his hand idly. “I wouldn't worry about that, Bard. She's got eyes for Frodo.” Bard spluttered.

 

-

 

It was nearing ten o'clock. Kíli sat with Tauriel and Tilda, cutting triangles into folded pieces of silvery paper to make snowflakes. Tilda had a bad habit of accidentally cutting hers in half, but otherwise she was quite handy with her scissors.

She was remarkably sharp for a ten year old, and she talked, endlessly; about the books she was reading, what they were learning about in school, all of it. She was kind of like a mini-Sigrid. Kíli found himself drifting every now and then, but Tauriel nodded along, seemingly absorbing every detail. Then again, that might just be her inner-business-assistant working.

After the fifth yawn, though, Tauriel set down her current snowflake. “I think it's time for bed, miss,” she said, gently.

And then the protests started. “I'm not tired!” Tilda exclaimed. “I'm just yawning, that's all.”

“You need to go to bed, Tilda,” Kíli said, solemnly. “Santa won't come if you're awake, you know.”

Tilda pouted. It was a very impressive pout, which only the toughest and most experienced of souls could resist. That's what Kíli figured, anyway; already his resolve was flagging, and he could see from Tauriel's face that she was, too.

Then Legolas arrived. “Come on, Tildy,” he clucked, hefting her up in his arms. For someone so slim, he was quite muscular. “Let's take you upstairs to say goodnight to everyone and if you're lucky, your dad won't have forgotten about you and can tuck you into bed.”

Still pouting but unresisting in his arms, Tilda allowed herself to be carried away.

Sitting at the table, with Sigrid and Bain yelling at each other over Mortal Kombat, they were for the moment almost alone. Tauriel smiled, a touch nervously, and he knew she was thinking about meeting his mother tomorrow.

Looking her in the eye, careful to keep a straight face, he held up a snowflake he'd been keeping aside, and unfolded it. Within the patterns of the paper were, alongside diamonds and circles, little hearts. She let out a delighted laugh.

“I thought you'd like that,” he said, smugly.

“How are you even real?” she asked, still laughing. “Did girls in school slip notes in your locker and when you smiled did birds suddenly appear?”

Kíli smiled. “Hey, you love it,” he said. She nodded.

“I do.”

“Are you sure you don't want to stay over at Uncle Thorin's and Bilbo's tonight? We have tons of room.”

She hesitated. “I really would like to,” she said. “It's just... with your mom?”

“What about her?”

“I'd rather have hours of prep time, if you don't mind, instead of me running into her wearing my 'wine princess' pyjamas.”

“You don't need to prep. You look like a goddess even when you're napping and drooling.”

“No I don't.”

“Sure you do,” Kíli reasoned. “The goddess of drooly naps.” She lightly whacked him on the arm.

Tilda was carried back downstairs, this time in the arms of her father. Everyone got a chance to kiss her goodnight before she was carried into Tauriel's old room to get tucked in. That seemed to be the signal to tidy up and get ready to go, and not fifteen minutes later they had all gone upstairs to say goodnight and wish each other a Merry Christmas until tomorrow.

Thorin and Thranduil hadn't fought; Legolas and Sigrid were out of the running, but Tauriel and Kíli were still in for noon and 3 o'clock the following day, respectively. Also Fíli, who was absent, had texted in a bet for five thirty (which, according to him, was dinnertime and therefore when tensions ran high.)

“We may as well head straight to the airport,” Thorin mused as he shrugged on his coat. “Unless you want me to drop you off, Kíli? Tauriel, are you sure you wouldn't like to come with us?”

Tauriel seemed to flush, slightly, at the offer; even Kíli was surprised by his uncle's words. “No, thank you,” she said. “I should stay. But I'm looking forward to tomorrow.”

“Good,” Thorin said, buttoning up his coat. “We'll see you all tomorrow, then.”

Outside, the wind had picked up. Kíli tightened his scarf, and smiled as Bilbo put his arm around him. “Glad to see your brother?” he asked. "And your mother?"

“Absolutely.”

“She'll love Tauriel,” Bilbo assured him.

“Yup,” Thorin said, in a voice so toneless it was supposed to sound like a dry joke, but Kíli knew when his uncle was being serious. “The minute Tauriel sasses her, it'll be true love. There's nothing Dís adores more than the fearless.”

“You think Tauriel's fearless?” Kíli asked, pleased. Kíli knew she was, of course, but he wondered if the rest of his family saw it.

Thorin didn't answer, just got into the car. Kíli rolled his eyes, but Bilbo smiled. “Don't worry about it,” he said. “It'll be great. Now let's go have some overpriced airport drinks while we wait for Dís and Fíli, alright?”


	2. Christmas Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A further collision of families at Bag End. Also, apparently Thranduil Knows Things about popovers and Thorin disagrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long! New job and all the fun that goes with it, you know. Thanks for your patience :D also this chapter was longer than I meant it to get, so it's overflowing into a third one~

When Sigrid woke, everything was silent, save for the soft, easy breaths of Tilda sleeping next to her. As carefully as she could, she freed her cell phone from underneath her pillow and, squinting at the brightness of her screen, checked the time.

Almost eight. She eased herself out of bed, reaching for her sweatshirt and slippers. Out in the main room, where they had played video games until midnight, Tauriel and Legolas were each sleeping on a couch. Legolas was sprawled on his face with half of the blanket on the floor; Tauriel was curled up with her head tucked under the blanket, with just her hair sprouting out, like the leaves of a turnip or an onion. Sigrid smiled, then carefully walked up the stairs, doing her best not to let any of them creak too loudly.

The house had that soft, dim glow to it that was in every home in the early morning. She hesitated at the foot of the stairs that led onto the second floor. Her father was supposed to be sleeping in the guest room, so he'd said; and while she was completely fine with him pursuing a relationship, and definitely didn't lie to herself about what he might get up to, that didn't mean she wanted to see any evidence of it. Still, as the eldest she figured it was her job to check and work through the awkwardness before any of her other siblings could, so she began to walk up the stairs.

She was not so quiet this time around. She hoped that, if she was about to catch her own father in flagrante, so to speak, she could at least give him some warning beforehand. She gave the guest room door a clear knock and, after waiting for a minute, knocked again, then cracked it open.

Nope, no Bard. She sighed, and shut the door a bit more sharply than she intended, wincing at the small slamming noise.

The door at the other end of the hallway opened. Feeling herself already blushing, she looked up to see Thranduil glancing out at her. His hair was a mess and he was wearing the kind of housecoat she only saw rich men on BBC television shows wear.

He raised his eyebrows at her, obviously puzzled at her presence upstairs. “Oh,” he said, quietly; the sort of quiet people adopted in a still-sleeping household. “I thought you might have been your father.”

“I was just looking for him?”

“He should still be downstairs where I left him,” Thranduil frowned. “Has he gone missing?”

“What?”

“He fell asleep on the couch last night. I didn't have the heart to wake him.”

Sigrid felt both embarrassed and then entertained by her own awkwardness. “Oh, I just went straight for the guest room,” she said. “I didn't even check the living room.”

“Well, hopefully he's there, or he was kidnapped in the night.”

Sigrid headed back downstairs. Sure enough, there was her father, out cold on the couch, wearing yesterday's clothes and covered by a blanket. She sighed, going to sit down next to him. He was so tired lately, she definitely wasn't surprised. She'd found him sleeping on the couch at home more often than not during the past month.

“Daddy?” she asked, gently pushing at his shoulder. She didn't really want to wake him up, but it was better her than Tilda leaping on him later and asking him if he'd seen Santa. “Da?”

He shifted, eyes fluttering open, and squinted up at her. “Sigrid,” he said, uncomprehending. “Is it morning?”

“Yup. Christmas morning,” she teased.

He smiled, lifting up an arm in invitation. She happily stretched out on the couch next to him, cuddling close for a moment. “Merry Christmas, then. Did you sleep well?”

“Mmm-hmm. You?”

“Not too bad. This couch is pretty comfy.”

“Looks it.”

“Anyone else awake?”

“Us and Thranduil. Want me to start some coffee?”

He kissed her forehead. “In a moment,” he said, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence. She knew he would fall asleep again, and decided to just let him. After her mother died, for months she'd felt tired all the time, and would fall asleep cuddled up next to her father on the couch. She'd wake up to find the house dark but her father still gamely sitting with her, dozing upright, the television still on. Sigrid figured it was high time to repay that favour, so she didn't budge for quite some time.

 

Tauriel was having one of those days where she just felt disgusting. It started when Legolas shook her awake where she had been drooling on her pillow, and continued through opening presents and eating breakfast (washed down by a few mimosas). Her face felt oily and blotchy. Her hair was flat. Even after showering she felt like there was no point, because she just broke out into a sweat again as soon as she got her clothes on (before changing her mind and switching outfits, then changing her mind and switching outside _again_ ).

“You have _got_ to calm your shit.” That was Legolas. He was frowning disapprovingly at her from the doorway to the upstairs bathroom.

Tauriel glared. “Be helpful or leave,” she said, snidely.

His eyes wandered up to her hair, and she flushed. She had been trying to braid it up but kept missing strands and accidentally pulling sections out. She'd also broken a nail, and its ragged edge was making everything harder. “Want me to do that?” he asked, pointing at the half-done updo. She scowled.

“I want you to set it on fire,” she said.

“O-kay,” he said. “Just... sit down. I'll fix it.”

She sat down on the toilet lid, turning and jamming her legs against the wall so Legolas had space to stand at her back. He smoothed the hairbrush through her strands, still slightly damp. It seemed like that one swipe eliminated every single tangle. Damn him and his endless competence.

She resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands, less she dislodge his work. “This is dumb,” she said. “I shouldn't be freaking out like this. This isn't like me.”

“Are you serious?” Legolas scoffed. “This is _so_ like you. Compared to me and dad, you are the most anxiety-ridden person in the house.”

“I'm _not_ anxiety-ridden.”

“I said by comparison.” Already his fingers were deftly weaving through her hair, and she closed her eyes, trying to let the familiarity soothe her. “You get emotional over important stuff. There's nothing wrong with that.”

“It's not important...”

“Not to freak you out, but yeah, it is.” She realized he wasn't putting her hair up, was weaving it downwards, but was too glad over him dealing with it instead for her to argue or try to figure out what he was doing. “I mean, if his mom doesn't like you, that means you have to deal with the fact that, you know, Kíli was raised by a raging idiot.”

She rolled her eyes, and Legolas tugged on her hair. “Ow! I didn't say anything.”

“I _felt_ the eyeroll. I'm not just saying this to be nice, you know. There is absolutely no reason for her to object, become argumentative, weirdly dramatic – absolutely none. This is the real world, not a television show. This little meeting is just so she can put a face and a voice to the name, and the same goes for you and her. Even if she doesn't like you, it's the holidays. She will be _forced_ to be nice to you, or risk her son eloping with you on an artistic whim.”

“But what if she's just like Thorin?”

Legolas chuckled, and patted her head. She glanced to the side into the bathroom mirror. Legolas had braided her hair down so that it was clean, neat, and out of her face. There was loose hair, still, but the plaits wrapped around it in sections, keeping it in place. “That's what dad is for,” he said. “Now come on. You've got enough time for brows, lashes and lips and then we gotta head out.”

 

It was not yet noon and the house was already brimming with people as family and friends filled Bag End to almost bursting. Christmas was always the penultimate holiday, and Kíli, who had spent the summer there and was used to Bilbo's endless barbecues and get togethers, thought even Bag End was going to have trouble with the onslaught.

Upstairs, downstairs, the basement, even the backyard – it was full of people. Bilbo's cousins and siblings, Thorin's family and friends, and, soon, even the Greenleafs and the Bowmans would be there. Kíli did not have a moment's peace, but that was fine – because in the early hours of the morning Fíli had arrived, and his brother's presence was not only appreciated, but always soothing.

Outside – backyard and front yard – Frodo and some of the other children were playing a rather competitive version of capture the flag. In the kitchen Bilbo just seemed to be walking in circles as he tended to casserole dishes and pots, brought down glasses, emptied and reloaded the dishwasher, and a million other things. Thorin had tried to help, but had been kicked out and was now sitting in the front room with his sister (and Kíli's mother), catching up.

Kíli, wearing the brand new sweater his mother had gotten him (“Wow, you look manly for once,” Fíli observed, before Kíli punched him in the arm) checked his phone. Tauriel had sent him a text doctored with about a million emojis (as if she were Sigrid's age and not a respectable businesswoman) to let him know they had recently left the house.

“Hey.” Fíli nudged him from behind. “Help me eat these.” He had a plate of devilled eggs balanced in his hand.

“This is why you don't have a girlfriend, Fíli. Or a boyfriend, for that matter.”

“So you don't want any?”

Kíli quickly scooped up two before his brother got any ideas about not sharing.

The arrival of his girlfriend was announced loudly by Legolas, opening the door and shouting hello (in all fairness, there was a sign on the door that said 'Merry Christmas! Come in and say hello!'). His infantry of Bardlings pushed him to the side, and at Bilbo's call from the ktichen of 'cookies are done!' they were off like a shot, skipping all introductions in favour of baked goods.

Kíli and Fíli made it to the front door just as Dwalin came down the stairs leading to the entryway. “Well,” Dwalin said, dryly. “The prodigal son has arrived.”

“Your head is extra shiny today, Dwalin!” Legolas crowed, then brightened when he saw Fíli. “Moustache, you're here!”

“Barbie!” Fíli shouted. They dramatically embraced.

Dwalin shook his head. “Kíli,” he said. “Take the lady's coat, why don't you?”

Feeling thoroughly chastened, Kíli rushed forward to relieve Tauriel of her jacket, as she had been standing uncertainly at the door. In all fairness, Legolas had been in the way not seconds earlier.

“Merry Christmas, Dwalin,” Tauriel said. “That's a very fetching sweater.”

“Aye, this is a sweater household. If you feel left out we'll wrangle one up for you, lass.”

“I like your sweater, too,” Tauriel said, playfully, to Kíli, who could feel a blush creeping up his face. He was being ridiculous. Surely by now he could hold himself together whenever Tauriel complimented him? Apparently not. He'd been hanging out with her regularly for months, now, sometimes even falling asleep in the same bed, and yet still even the smallest praise from her could make him feel dizzy with happiness.

If she was nervous, she wasn't showing it. “Thranduil and Bard are driving in another car, they'll be here in a minute.” Then she tipped her head to the side and said, archly, “Or thirty.” Dwalin let out a hearty laugh.

Kíli grabbed her hand. “Come on,” he said, pulling her towards the front room. Like pulling off a bandaid, it was better to get it over with as soon as possible, he reasoned.

His mother looked an awful lot like Thorin, at least when it came to the chin and eyes and long, tumbling black hair. She shared, too, an elegant but also sturdy build with her brother. But her nose was petite and her lips full. People used to ask Kíli if his mother had ever been an actress; she had the sort of looks that suited well to black and white photography.

“Mom,” Kíli said, interrupting whatever conversation she and his uncle had been having (which was not such a faux pas as it might have been; their family was known for their interruptions, opinions, and chaotic discussions over dinner and otherwise). “This is Tauriel.”

Tauriel, who had for a moment looked a bit dumbfounded at having been dragged suddenly into the fray, recovered with a glorious smile, the sort that tended to make her surroundings fade (at least to Kíli). “It's so nice to meet you, finally,” she said, holding out her hand.

Dís got to her feet, her long, blue dress shimmering faintly. “And you,” she said, clasping Tauriel's hands in both of her own. “You're rather infamous back home, you know. Everyone is suitably impressed by anyone who can get my brother to change his mind about anything.”

Thorin snorted; Tauriel's smile morphed into something a little more mischievous. “Infamy,” she said, “is always something I've aspired to.”

“Well you're off to a good start. Kíli,” his mother glanced over at him, “why don't you get Tauriel a drink before she dies of thirst?”

First Dwalin, now his mother; everyone was rather keen on trying to make him look bad today. He didn't mind, though, because that just meant his family seemed to think her important enough to be taken care of and fussed over. “What would you like?” he asked her.

“The winter ale is quite good, this year,” she said, with a glance over at Thorin. He smiled.

After checking if anyone else in the living room needed anything, Kíli headed into the kitchen. He stood next to Bilbo, who was both cutting up a bunch of sandwiches for plating, and looking out in the backyard.

“Aren't they cute?” Bilbo asked, fondly. Kíli followed his eye to where Frodo and Sigrid were off to the side, for the moment completely absorbed in trying to hide their team flag underneath the gardening tools.

“You and matchmaking, Bilbo,” Kíli said, shaking his head as he popped the caps of off a handful of Lonely Mountain bottles. “I'll never understand it.”

When he got back into the living room, Tauriel and Thorin were what Kíli fretfully referred to as 'talking shop'; one of the big differences between himself and Tauriel (which was fine; differences made everything much more exciting) was her head for business. Thorin seemed to like talking to Tauriel about such things, probably because it meant he could get an alternate view of business practices that would help him grow Lonely Mountain, without having to deal with someone like Thranduil.

“Aw, leave her alone, uncle,” Kíli said, passing out the bottles he had returned with before placing the last one in Tauriel's hand. “It's the holidays. Can't you keep it in your hair for a few days?”

“She started it,” Thorin protested. Tauriel smiled innocently and shrugged.

He sat down next to her, comfortably close, the sides of their hips pressed together. His mother's eyes flickered over them for a moment before she focused on Dwalin, who came in and sat down in the chair next to her.

The babble of talk filled the living room, punctuated by shouts of laughter. Kíli found himself leaping up often to go fulfil drink requests. He was about to get a third beer for Tauriel and another gin and tonic for Dís when the front door opened again.

“Oh, is that our friends sugar and spice?” Dwalin asked, craning his head over his shoulder.

“I'll fight you, Dwalin,” Tauriel warned, and Kíli smirked. Dís punched Dwalin in the arm just as Bard appeared in the entry to the living room. He was looking sharp, having eschewed his usual t-shirts and plaid for a smart blue button-down.

Despite himself, Kíli was surprised at the way his mother broke into a huge smile. Then again, maybe he shouldn't be. He had been young when his mother and uncle had first met Bard and his late wife. He might have only played with a young Sigrid and Bain a handful of times before never seeing them again, but who knew how often the adults had talked?

“Oh, Bard. It's been ages.” Dís moved forward to give him a warm hug. Bard seemed surprised, but not displeased, hugging her back after a moment. Kíli knew this must have been their first meeting since his wife had died.

“You don't look a day older,” he said.

Dís snorted. “You always were a liar,” she said. “Ah. And this is the villainous Greenleaf?”

“Charmed,” Thranduil said, mildly, but apparently honestly, tipping his chin deferentially towards Kíli's mother. “I can assure you, everything you've heard is false, unless it's terrible. Then it's all true.”

“Oh, really?” Dís asked, easily. “Because I heard from someone that you're a very loyal father. And I'm inclined to believe it.”

Kíli felt his mouth open in a gape. Even Thranduil appeared taken aback. Kíli glanced aside at Tauriel, who was blinking owlishly, before looking at Thorin. His uncle was starting to go very – guiltily – red.

“Who-” Thranduil began, before stopping, apparently putting the pieces together, and falling into an awkward silence.

Suddenly everyone was staring at Thorin, who coughed and then said, very loudly, “Did you honestly have the gall to bring wine to _my_ party?”

Thranduil glanced down at the bottle in his hand, clearly a host gift, and raised a single eyebrow at Thorin. “Surely a keen mind such as yours can put the pieces of the puzzle together, Thorin.”

The familiarity of disagreement was like a sudden balm on the situation. “And here I thought my beer was good enough for you,” he said. “Seeing as you tried so hard to get your hands on it. _Tried_.”

“I wouldn't worry,” Thranduil said, flippantly. “This wine is for a rather keen palate. I thought Bilbo might like a change.”

“Bilbo _loves_ Lonely Mountain-”

“Alright,” Bard said, taking Thranduil by the shoulders and turning him around (and also, unknowingly, sidelining Tauriel's bet of an argument happening around noon). “Why don't you go see if Bilbo needs help in the kitchen?”

“Are you actually banishing me?” Thranduil exclaimed. “To the _kitchen_?”

Bard gave him a little push. “Sure am, for the time being,” he said. Thranduil scowled. “I love you,” he added.

“Cheap,” Thranduil said, but headed for the kitchen anyway.

“Ballsy, Bard,” Dwalin commented, looking impressed, but Bard shrugged.

“He wanted to go see Bilbo anyway, I just gave him a reason. And _you_ ,” he said, pointing warningly at Thorin. “I already have three children to chase after, I'm not interested in adding you to the docket. Clear?”

“This is my house,” Thorin muttered.

Dís kicked him in the leg. “So, _manners_ ,” she said. “Bard, get my son to fetch you a drink and come sit down. Tell me how the kids are doing.”

 

Legolas had meant to stick by Tauriel, but she seemed to be doing just fine meeting Kíli's mother. So instead Legolas had gone downstairs with Fíli, where Balin and several others were playing cards, making bets, and partaking in what Legolas liked to call 'old man gossip'. Even though many of them were employees and companions of Thorin, Legolas was learning that these people were almost like a tribe – one big family that had been around Fíli his whole life.

He and Fíli were the youngest guests there, but that didn't seem to matter as soon as Fíli brought out the instruments. Apparently, music was something of a heavy influence here. Legolas had never been particularly musical, having only dabbled in it every now and then; but after about twenty minutes he had rather got the hang of several chords on the guitar he had borrowed from Fíli. After that, the card-playing stopped and it turned into a ten person jam session.

Of course, even the hearty shouts of a drinking song and the strum of a power chord on an electric guitar could not block out the chaos from upstairs.

Fíli and Legolas looked at each other. “It's happening,” Fíli said. Legolas almost strangled himself on the guitar strap in his urgency to put the instrument aside and run upstairs.

“Time check!” Fíli shouted, eagerly. “Is it dinner yet?”

Not quite, apparently. Dís was standing in the living room, shaking her head. Tauriel, standing next to her (and over her a bit, due to height) was red in the face, but whether it was amusement, embarrassment, or drunkenness, Legolas couldn't tell you.

“What the Hell do you know about popovers?” Thorin could be heard yelling from the kitchen.

Kíli materialized, grabbing his older brother by the arm. “Three fifteen!” he said, victoriously, and Fíli groaned. “Looks like I'm the winner, here!”

“What are they arguing about?” Legolas asked, curiously. He had already accustomed himself to the idea of losing the bet, and was more interested in what had set them off.

Apparently: turkey. Bilbo had said something about the roast coming along. Thranduil had asked about the oven temperature. Said oven temperature had been decided upon by Thorin. Thranduil had made _a noise_ in his throat, that is to say, Thorin had heard a loud and shameless insult uttered in his direction in regards to his knowledge about roasting a Christmas bird.

The situation had escalated so fast, Bilbo was walking out of the kitchen holding a glass of wine and looking like a deer in headlights. Apparently, every single item on the dinner menu was now being torn apart by Thranduil and Thorin, except for anything Bilbo had done on his own, which was considered Perfect. However, the shouting suggested that not even that small agreement would soothe the argument.

Legolas heard a noise from the front door, and looked over his shoulder to see Bard peering out. It was on the tip of Legolas' tongue to say something about how sharp the other man was looking, but when Bard pulled back inside and closed the door, something about his expression made Legolas pause.

“Everything okay?” he asked, but Bard just brushed by him, cutting through the living room and heading straight for the kitchen.

“Bard, you shouldn't-” Bilbo began, but he was also ignored.

Then, to what was almost certainly _everyone's_ surprise, Legolas heard Bard practically shriek, “ _Shut up for one second_!”

In the hushed moment that followed, Legolas heard the back door open and Bard call out, less angrily, but not less urgently, “Bain, Sigrid! _Where is your sister_?”

Tauriel put her beer down so hard it was a wonder the bottle didn't crack on the coffee table. Bilbo looked white. Legolas turned, digging into his pocket for his car keys, listening, hoping to hear an affirmative answer called from the backyard. But there wasn't one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Tilda's fine. This was just the best part to cut off before I introduce some new players in the universe :3  
> Also, Legolas' brows/lashes/lips advice is courtesy of former makeup artist Jeremy Renner.


	3. a toast

She was looking forward to this. Even though the house was small and barely furnished, the majority of their belongings packed in boxes scattered around, most of their dishware still new in the box – she was excited. This was her first Christmas since she was seven without her aunt, uncle and cousin hovering in the background, always somehow reminding her of who was absent.

Instead it was just her and her brother. For a moment she hadn't been sure her uncle was going to let her go, but then at the last moment he had nodded and held back. So now she was here in this new city, steadily unpacking her things, trying to make a new home. For so long she'd felt shuttered, contained, hidden like a treasure in an attic. Now she was left room to breathe.

The tiny plastic Christmas tree they'd bought last minute, barely a foot high, was strung with the old hot-glued felt and candy decorations they'd made when they were little. It was bare underneath; they had opened their presents that morning. She'd saved up and gotten her brother a new leather jacket; he had spent far too much on her, she felt, giving her a new bookbag and an iPod for school. Their aunt and uncle had sent them some gifts as well, and for her they had mostly been gift cards for a new wardrobe. It was halfway through the school year, but she was ready to start over.

She was munching on some toast for a pre-dinner snack, making herself another cup of hot chocolate and looking out the front window, biding her time before going back and unpacking everything else. The only dishes they'd taken out were the ones they had been using for the past two days. They were hoping to have everything set up by New Year's.

Something outside caught her eye and made her frown. There was a girl walking uncertainly by on the sidewalk, scrutinizing the house numbers. She thought about calling her brother, but the sound of plumbing told her he'd just hopped into the shower.

She opened the front door and leaned out. It was a bit chilly, but nothing she couldn't handle. “Hello!” she called. “I... are you our neighbour?”

The girl hesitated.

She waited patiently.

“I'm lost,” the girl said.

“What's your name?”

She didn't answer.

“I'm Eowyn,” she said, helpfully. “Do you have a number I could call for you? You don't have to come inside if you don't want but you can sit down on the lawn and I could bring a phone to you?”

“Could you call my da for me?” the girl asked, hopefully. “He's probably really mad.”

“I'll go get a phone. You stay right there, okay? I'll be right back.”

She didn't think this neighbourhood was full of prowlers, of course, but Eowyn didn't want to take any chances. She quickly grabbed her brother's cell phone, her sweater and, after a moment of consideration, the blanket on the lone armchair. The girl had been securely bundled up in a jacket, but her cheeks were rather rosy and if she wouldn't come inside then the blanket would hopefully help.

Outside again, her new guest was sitting at the foot of the steps. Away from the road, but safely far from the door. “Here, do you want me to dial?” Eowyn asked.

The girl looked solemn. “I can do it,” she said. “I don't want him to yell at you.”

Eowyn didn't think the girl's father would yell, especially depending on how long she'd been lost, but instead she just handed the phone over.

 

Her name turned out to be Tilda, and she was ten years old. Soothed that her father was only a few minutes away, she was more than ready to come inside the house at the first offer of hot chocolate.

Eowyn hoped her brother would get out of the shower soon, because she suddenly realized she had just invited a strange man over – to come retrieve his child, certainly, but a stranger nonetheless. At the very urgent door knock, though, Eowyn had no choice but to go and answer.

There wasn't just one man there, but rather a handful of people out front. The one on the front step with the hunted look was undoubtedly Tilda's father, but there was a blonde man standing down on the walkway, next to a woman with long red hair.

“Da!”

Tilda rushed forward, and Eowyn found herself breaking into a smile at the relieved way Tilda's father practically grabbed her up into the air and squeezed her. Tilda made a little squeaky noise as the air was squished out of her, but she didn't seem to mind.

What Eowyn didn't expect was to find herself, suddenly, engulfed in a hug herself.

“Oh, Bard, calm down!” a man laughed. Suddenly the blonde was there, helping to extricate him and Tilda from Eowyn. “She's fine, we're all fine, don't maul the girl. And stop crying.”

“I'm not crying,” Bard said, gruffly.

“What's going on?”

Eowyn glanced around and there was her brother, towelling off his hair. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans; Eowyn wished he wouldn't because that always made all of her friends back home giggle uncontrollably, and follow him around. In fact, the blonde man was now looking at Eomer with the sort of wide eyes she recognized all too well.

“This is Tilda, she got lost so I called her dad,” Eowyn explained, quickly. Eomer's expression turned from puzzled and suspicious into a relieved smile, and he moved forward to shake Bard's hand.

“Glad you found her,” he said.

“That's a great accent,” the blonde man suddenly said; his redheaded friend dug an elbow into his ribs, and he winced.

“We lived in New Zealand til I was eleven, and we can't shake it,” Eomer said, warmly. “Sorry, I just took a shower. Why don't you all come in?”

“We need to let everyone know we found Tilda,” the redheaded woman said. “I'll go do that – excuse me.” And she hurried off down to the sidewalk, pulling out her cell phone.

After some initial awkwardness, Eowyn managed to get everyone settled at the kitchen table with hot chocolate.

The blonde, whose name was Legolas, glanced around. He seemed less distracted now that her brother had finally put on a shirt. “You guys just move in?” he asked, interested.

“Yeah, two days ago,” Eomer said, with a nod.

Eowyn felt a tug on her shirt, and found that Tilda had extricated herself from her father and was now dogging Eowyn's heels. “You're pretty,” she stated. “How old are you?”

Eowyn laughed, pleased. “I'm sixteen.”

“Oh, so's Sigrid!” Tilda exclaimed.

“My other daughter,” Bard added. He seemed to have calmed down, the colour returning to his cheeks. “We were just at a party two blocks away. The kids were all running around outside and they lost track.”

“I got lost,” Tilda repeated, shamefaced. “I'm sorry.”

“C'mere, Tildy,” Legolas said, opening his arms. She went over to him, scrambling comfortably into his lap. Bard shook his head. There was clearly going to be some discussions about safety and responsibility at some point, but it wasn't about to occur right there.

Eowyn understood. She had run off when she was seven, on purpose – right after her parents had died. She had meant to just hide and be alone for a little while, but then she had gotten lost. Eomer found her in the park, crying, and had sat down with her and made her repeat, until she knew by memory, their address and phone number.

He'd gotten in a lot of trouble for losing track of her, but he had never taken it out on her. To this day, years later, Eowyn could still remember their old phone number, and the address of their old house, the one with the horse wallpaper in her room and the stained glass window by the garden wall.

“What school does your daughter go to?” Eomer asked. “Maybe she and Sigrid are at the same one.”

“I doubt it,” Bard said, shaking his head. “We don't live in the area – we're on the north end of the city.”

“Gondor Composite?” Eomer asked. Bard raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, that's the one,” he said.

“That's where I'm going,” Eowyn said, pleased at the idea that just maybe she wouldn't be completely lost and alone on her first day. When it had come to picking schools, she and Eomer had sat down and gone through them together. Of course, there was a rather fancy school quite close to where they lived, called Brandywine; but Eomer had suggested a school that was closer to where he himself was doing his work-study arrangement. It made sense, because that was where he would be most of the time if she needed him, but Eowyn had agreed for a different reason. She was tired of the schools full of prestige, she'd gotten enough of that living with her aunt and uncle. She wanted something different. “It's close to where Eomer is working. Studying. Both.”

“You should definitely meet Sigrid, then,” Legolas said. “She's crafty. She'll show you the ropes. She's my adopted little sister. And Tildy here,” he added, patting her on the head. Bard shook his head, looking amused.

There was a light knock on the front door, and then the redheaded woman let herself in. She had cloudy green eyes, a somewhat freckled face, and moved lightly on her feet. “Well, everyone's stopped panicking, for the most part,” she said, then mentioned how two people named Thorin and Thranduil had disappeared together on foot in the search for Tilda, arguing the entire time about which direction she could have gone. “Bilbo's hoping to have dinner set out by seven once we've all regrouped. Assuming Thorin and Thranduil come back in one piece.”

Eowyn's brother got to his feet, holding out his hand. “Hi,” he said. “Eomer.”

“Tauriel,” the woman said, firmly shaking his hand. He gave her his 500 watt smile, but she seemed unaffected. Eowyn rolled her eyes.

“Charmed.”

“I hate to seem ungrateful, but we probably should get going,” Bard said, grudgingly. “Thank you, so much, for helping out.”

After about five minutes, in which the hot chocolate was finished and Tilda had managed to have all of her questions answered (she seemed to be quizzing Eowyn over friendship compatibility with her sister, and was pleased by the results), they were all out on the front steps again.

“Are you sure you wouldn't like to come for dinner?” Tauriel asked. She and Legolas were standing arm in arm, while Bard seemed insistent on carrying Tilda everywhere, as if suspicious she might run off again. “There's tons of food and the host definitely won't mind.”

“We really need to unpack.”

“New Year's, then,” Tauriel insisted, pulling out her phone. “Give me your number and we'll get in touch. You're definitely invited to a party at mine, okay?”

After they had gone, Eomer shut the door and said, thoughtfully, “You think she's single?”

“Girls that pretty are never single,” Eowyn said, dryly.

“Yeah, you're probably right. Come on, kid,” he said, slinging his arm around her shoulders. “Let's find a takeout restaurant open today.”

 

Dís loved her brother. Really. He was just... such an idiot sometimes.

Not to say he was stupid. He was just bullheaded. He used to be worse – a sly, insulting, promiscuous jackass who was used to getting what he wanted from other people. She supposed that was good, though, because that stubborn insistence in pursuing what he wanted – always ignoring _why_ he wanted something, because Thorin had been one of those people who used things and people up, and then disposed of them – had been what kept him hot on the trail of Bilbo. Bilbo, after all, had been none too impressed with Thorin at first.

The match had almost been magical, in a way; being together had nullified their own toxic behaviours. They were so good for each other. Dís would think back to those years trying to reign in her wild brother while handling her two rambunctious teenagers – and she thought about how through Bilbo she had met Bard and Isabel.

How long had it been? Over seven years, now. It felt like another time, and Dís knew now that it _had_ been, because they had all been on the verge of something, the next section of their lives about to unravel. A strange, blooming beginning, but bittersweet, too, because it hadn't been together and it hadn't been entirely happy.

Bilbo's suave and charming coworker, Bard, always encouraging and pushing Bilbo to take a chance on things, let himself live life. And then Isabel; beautiful, doe-faced, iron-willed Isabel. Dís had known they would be great friends, and their children would be great friends. And perhaps they would have been, if Isabel had not gotten sick.

Even after Bard had quit his job and disappeared to take care of his wife and his family – selling the house, selling everything, grinding himself into debt – life had moved on. Kíli and Fíli's father had shown up, and then, just as quickly, left again.

And after all of the arguments, the disagreements, the stubbornness, the commitment phobia, Dís had watched her brother turn into a real man, and Bilbo into a good person.

That, in itself, could have been enough. Dís loved her family, and all of the people in her life. The world was good and bad, it had its ups and downs, and she took what she could and was grateful for what she got.

This Christmas, though, she was sitting in the home her brother and Bilbo had built for themselves. Her son, so flighty and rushing headfirst into everything and who acted without thinking, was enamoured with a woman who adored him back but was not afraid to apply the brakes. And Bard, who she hadn't seen in so, so long – beginning to look less like that haunted creature she had tried to console at Isabel's funeral, and more like that confident, devil-may-care bartender who made the best dirty martini she had ever tasted to this day.

“You okay, Dís? You're looking a bit glassy-eyed.”

“I think I've had one too many,” she said, quickly, holding up the empty glass to Bilbo, utterly devoid of gin or tonic. But he just grinned.

“It's Christmas,” he replied. “One too many is five too few.”

“Do you know where Thorin is?”

“Still out and about with Thranduil. I sent a text, no response. They could be engaged in a fight to the death or getting ice cream. I'm never sure with those two.”

“They don't like each other.”

It was hard to tell if the next thing Bilbo said was sarcastic or not, but she was inclined to think it was. “Sure they don't.”

In groups, the search party for Tilda returned, including Tilda herself soon after the news of her discovery had spread. Apparently, she'd made it two blocks away after she'd been turned around, and wisely hadn't wandered much further than that. Dís noticed with some pity that Sigrid was looking a bit pale, almost sick – ashamed of herself, probably. She hoped Bard wouldn't be too hard on any of the kids. If it hadn't been Tilda, it could have been any of the other children running about getting lost in the maze of neighbourhood.

Dís and Bilbo had taken the opportunity of two thirds of everyone gone to set up the tables and chairs, lay out the plates and rearrange the finger foods. There were, in fact, three seating areas, just because there were so many people. That wasn't including the kids' table.

As soon as Bard returned, Bilbo whisked him away to the den, undoubtedly to feed him several ounces of brandy and talk him into some sort of calm. Dís busied herself with distracting Tilda and Sigrid, asking them to come into the kitchen and help. Gradually the colour began to return to Sigrid's face, while Tilda talked about the girl who had helped her when she was lost.

Soon enough, there was a loud slam from the front of the house. The bickering boys had arrived. She could hear them all the way in the kitchen.

Dís dried her hands off on a dish towel and headed for the noise. They were talking loudly but not, she noticed, heatedly; they were clearly disagreeing over something but it had lost the flavour of anger. It seemed almost like a debate. But even if that was an improvement it was not improvement _enough_ , because now was the time to shelve some of the childishness and get on with the evening.

She came upon Thorin and Thranduil extricating themselves from their jackets, scarves, and gloves, repeating a mixture of opinions (“We shouldn't have gone that way”) and insults (“At least my hair doesn't look stupid”). She opened her mouth, about to release her patented method of scolding men into submission – which had a very good success rate for her two sons – when Tauriel suddenly wafted in from the other side of the entryway.

In one hand she held a frosted mug of beer, in the other a large glass of wine the colour of honey. She stood between Thorin and Thranduil, and though she was clearly there to greet the pair of them it was almost as if she didn't notice them. It was like they were inanimate objects; all that mattered was the role she played in addressing them, and their reactions were unimportant.

She handed Thorin the beer, bent down ever so slightly to kiss him on the cheek. Dís watched the surprise flash across his face, but too late for him to really react; Tauriel had turned away, handed Thranduil the wine, then leaned up slightly to kiss him on the cheek, as well.

“Merry Christmas,” she said, in a voice so happy and light, it seemed like a balm in the air.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” Thranduil said, and Dís could practically _hear_ him dragging himself out of his funk with Thorin and towards the glow his adopted daughter was emanating.

There was an equal difficulty from Thorin, but he rallied nonetheless. “Merry Christmas, Tauriel,” he said. “You're a fine woman to have around.”

“Thank you for making all of this possible,” Tauriel said, smoothing her hands over Thranduil's shoulders to brush away imaginary lint, and then straightening the neckline of Thorin's sweater. “Both of you. Now, I think it's time to bring out the food, right?”

After the two of them shuffled off muttering to each other before hailing down family members, Dís shook her head, going to Tauriel's side. “Did you have to soothe a lot of tantrums working at Greenleaf Acquisitions?”

“More than I can count. Thranduil pisses off a lot of people, especially men.”

Dís took Tauriel's hand. “Let's go sit down. We've done enough work for today, don't you think?”

Dís made sure that Tauriel sat right beside her. She was fond of the girl already. She had a sweet and smiling face that hid a sharp mind and, Dís was certain, a sharper tongue. A body settled into the chair next to hers – she expected it to be Fíli (because Kíli would want to sit next to Tauriel, probably) but she was surprised to look aside and see Bard.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked.

She smiled. “It is now,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it.

Thorin, holding his large glass of beer (half gone) stalked up to the table, followed by Thranduil. They seemed to be ignoring each other despite standing side by side. “All firstborns who happen to be blonde, make sure all the glasses are full before we settle in.”

That, of course, ended up being Legolas, Sigrid, and Fíli. They rushed around, gaily calling out drink orders to each other, while food began to get doled out on plates. There was no saying of grace, no preamble, though Dís knew there had to be – at least – one speech.

Thorin sat at the head of their table (the largest one in the house). Next to him was Bilbo and, next to Bilbo, was Thranduil. The latter two had their heads together, discussing something with smiles on their faces; Thorin glowered.

“I hope his jealousy isn't coming out,” Dís remarked, quietly, to Bard; but he just barked out a laugh. He seemed to be in better spirits now.

“Oh, it's not jealousy,” he said, easily. “Thorin and Thranduil have a hard time dealing with the fact they find one another likable. Thranduil and Bilbo are just two peas in a culturally sophisticated pod. And they have similar tastes in men.”

“Rugged brunettes?” Dís teased.

Bard shrugged, but he was smirking. “It irritates Thorin but he still pretends not to like me, so he has no one to complain to about it.”

“Sounds like Thorin.”

Speaking of the devil, Dís heard her brother clear his throat and push his chair back, getting to his feet. Bilbo tapped a butter knife to his glass of wine. The talking settled down. “Bilbo tells me a speech is in order,” he said, grudgingly.

“That is rather the tradition,” Bilbo said, brightly.

“That tradition only started because you watch too many made-for-tv Christmas movies.”

“Yes. That's also tradition.”

Thorin sighed, ignoring the snickering that broke out. Bilbo just beamed, pleased with himself. “Every year, the host should say something... pertinent, about the year behind us. The last time we hosted dinner, Bilbo took that honour upon him, so this year it's my turn.”

There was a pause. Thorin took a breath, almost like a sigh. “It's been a strange year,” he said. “I suppose I'm lucky that I have such a large array of topics to choose from. I suppose you're all unlucky that it is me doing this speech, and not Bilbo, who is more eloquent. In reality, though, there's nothing to mention that none of us already know. So I guess I'll just say that I've been forced to expand my circle of acquaintances in the past twelve months. And now some of them are sitting here drinking my alcohol. But that's alright. I find most of you pretty tolerable. So, cheers.”

Another pause, this time loaded, awkward, and uncertain.

Then Thranduil stood, as graceful as a string of pearls, holding up his glass.

“To tolerable people!” he exclaimed, presenting his glass to Thorin. The both of them shared a viciously amused look, like weren't they the most hilarious two enemies in the world? Bilbo looked like he wasn't sure if he would die from amusement or embarrassment; and Dís realized Bard was practically vibrating with contained laughter.

Thorin tapped his glass to Thranduil's.

“Cheers!” Dwalin thundered from the next table, and then the house was drowning in the sound of glasses chinking together in a toast.

Dís shook her head after half of her gin and tonic was gone from the round of toasting. “To _tolerable people_ ,” she said. “Honestly. Those two are children.”

Tauriel, overhearing her, looked away from Kíli for a moment and smiled her sweet smile, but there was a spark of mischief about it. “I think,” she said, “they were just too embarrassed to say what they wanted to say.”

“Which was?” Kíli questioned.

“Why, to tolerance,” Tauriel said. “And acceptance. But they're too fond of their fight to admit it. Really they just need to let it go.” Then she took a deep breath and said, louder, more compellingly, “ _let it go_ -”

“Tauriel!” Legolas bellowed, so loudly that several utensils went flying as other diners jumped. “No _Frozen_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS TOOK ME LONG ENOUGH, RIGHT? WOW.  
> Thanks for hanging in there, readers! And I have more stuff in the works (which is what's been delaying this chapter in the first place). I had a lot of fun with the backstory in this chapter, and have been writing out some of it into another small project~  
> And I hope you like Eomer and Eowyn! More Tolkien characters will be introduced in future installments <3


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